Surely we have reached Peak Boho. Surely this trend that kicked off in 2002 is on its last faded cheesecloth-covered legs. If I see any more pseudo-gypsies in flowing dresses attempting to typify the lifestyle of free spirits and hippies in the 1960s and 70s by dressing up as someone who looks like a free spirit, I’ll scream.
Last week lots of my lovely friends on Facebook asked me to share a heart on my wall. Some sort of hold-your-finger-down, share-with-your-gal-pals etc to raise awareness for breast cancer. It’s hard to check your breasts when you’re sharing your... Read More →
Having a vagina is hard work. It’s also poorly paid. If you have a vagina, and you work full time, the median wage gap compared to people without vaginas is 21.4 per cent. Vaginas earn less. Clearly we vagina bearers are not only still cleaning the glass ceiling, we’re stuck to the floor.
If Dr Seuss were alive today he’d be writing the product claims for hair products. Clearly, where science fails, fiction takes its place. Like Seuss, the creative departments at the hair companies seem to have a peculiar talent for making... Read More →
Authorities are concerned that the shark netting of some north coast beaches has created a bigger environmental threat than they initially expected. With the netting of sharks, the area has experienced huge numbers of tourists. Some are even saying that... Read More →
Every time I speak to a baby I use that stupid high-pitched voice. I don’t know why. I can’t stop it. I see a baby and I start talking like a lunatic. I make my words long and drawn out like helloooooooooo baybeeee. It just looks at me. I think it likes me. I think it likes the baby-talk, so I keep going.
You can’t live here without having a favourite beach. I love The Pass. I love the way the shore is fringed by pandanus. The rock that we used to climb as a lookout that now has an official staircase and platform because too many dickheads were making the scramble.
Nothing makes you feel older than going to a music festival. Earlier this week I immersed myself in a sea of side boob, front boob and under boob at Byron’s Falls Festival. In fact I think they should consider rebranding... Read More →
When I was a kid trampolines didn’t have nets. And somehow we survived. In order to sustain a summer without broken bones you had to make sure you didn’t backflip onto the lawn and onto your head. When you poured... Read More →
It’s official. The world has gone mad. According to a recent media report Australian men are flocking to get a new wrinkle-reducing procedure. Scrotox. Like Botox, the idea is to reduce wrinkles. But not in the face, in your balls.
Once upon a time people had this thing called a ‘moral compass’. Once commonplace, in these modern times it has become a relic of the past. Something you’d find on the $2 table at Vinnies. Or free on Byron Swap and Sell.
You know what kind of person you are when your computer breaks. At 4.45pm last Friday my two-year-old Apple Mac decided to hold my life hostage by refusing to start. Like a cyber tantrum.
When I was a kid we went skating. There was a drive-in. A cafe with booths that we gathered at, eating burgers and playing Space Invaders. There was a regular Blue Light Disco. And I lived in a shitty country... Read More →
I saw it the other day, the Mullum Hug.* And it was then I realised that I hadn’t seen it for some time, not like this, not in its full 20-minute soul-to-soul traffic-stopping glory. I was crossing the street when... Read More →
Congratulations to the racists, the white supremacists, the Muslim-haters, the climate-change deniers, the homophobes, the misogynists, the pussy-grabbers and our friends in the coal industry: the world is yours again.
If you can do something to benefit yourself, should you? What if that thing you do to benefit yourself has long-term negative ramifications for others? What if your benefit is at the cost of others but this was never your intention? Are you still responsible?
Just over a week ago the United Nations announced the honorary ambassador for the empowerment of women and girls. Wonder Woman. That’s right. A fictitious superhero from DC Comics. And what attributes does she have to inspire us?
In the last 18 months it would appear that humans in northern NSW are no longer the top predator in the food chain. Right now we have second billing to sharks, and that’s pissing us off. ‘Look, buddy, you’re not just killing us. You’re killing our business.’
She’s dead. At just 25 million years. It’s a tragedy. A human being should never outlive one of the natural wonders of the world. That would be like seeing Everest crumble, or the Victoria Falls dry up, the Northern Lights... Read More →
I tell you, there’s one thing I love, and it’s a good old-fashioned surprise grab on the pussy. Especially by creepy old dudes. I’ll be walking down the street and wham, an old fella has gone for the downstairs shake,... Read More →
The other day on Gumtree someone posted a one-bedroom cabin for rent in Mullumbimby for 485 bucks a week. Wow, was it state-of-the-art, architect designed, fully furnished?… Nope. It’s rustic settler cottage style.
Last week my middle daughter finished school. Forever. That’s one less lunchbox on my bench. At my peak I was packing five lunchboxes and now I’m down to just two little boxes. I don’t understand parents who can’t wait for... Read More →
What is the collective noun for a group of slim, incredibly attractive young women in swimsuits and tiaras? A nightclub? A pole dance? No, it’s a pageant. A few weeks ago the winner of the 2016 Miss Universe Australia pageant, Caris Tiivel, was crowned.
As a kid my childhood is cleaved in two. BD and AD. That’s before the death and after the death of my father. I was six when he drove his powder-blue Valiant into the oncoming car of what I was to later discover was a school friend’s grandfather, killing him as well.
Life’s full of surprises. How you start out isn’t always how you end up. Growing up, I wasn’t a bad girl. I know that’s kind of shocking. Because I certainly turned into one later in life. It doesn’t even make sense to me and I’m me. Imagine how my mother feels.